


Someone to You

by kaylaagron



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylaagron/pseuds/kaylaagron
Summary: All his life, Jaskier has been a wanderer, perpetually on the road with a lute and no muse to call his own.Not until he meets the renowned witcher, earning himself more than what he has bargained for.Inspired by the song 'Someone to You'. ONESHOT.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 34





	Someone to You

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on Netflix's adaptation and deviates slightly from Jaskier's background as per games/books. Based on the episode 'Rare Species'. The aftermath and some inner thoughts of one clumsy bard.

> _You are not mine,_
> 
> _but sometimes I pretend that you wish you were_
> 
> _I create this idea that you secretly want me,_
> 
> _and I often forget it's just something I made up,_
> 
> _you do not want me, and you are not mine._

* * *

There are numerous qualities embodying a person that enthralls Julian Alfred Pankratz — beauty, loyalty, strength and the like. Riches and fame do appeal to the wandering human, considering how his first meeting with Geralt went in the tavern, the other emanating an aura that commands Jaskier's utmost attention.

He could feel it deep in his bones, a tingling sensation that courses through his veins that the white wolf would be the muse to his long forgotten poetry, awakening the lull in which he has resorted to petty mockery in his own singing to keep himself fed and sated. The inveigling isn't wrong — their journey is indeed filled with stones of destiny laid out for the witcher, death for the monsters slain and heroics in the composition sung through taverns and towns.

But has Jaskier braced himself for the inevitable heartbreak when cerulean gaze first drift towards the dark corners that fateful morning?

No, the foolish bard has naturally succumbed to the notion they would be the ones leaving broken-hearted maidens in their wake, perhaps a young lad or two for himself, yet he didn't expect the ache in his chest when his eyes peek through the shattered glass.

Distraught about the loss of his friend, the only semblance of company he has retained in years of searching, a flicker of hope is ignited when Chireadan relays the messgae that the two had survived the building quite literally collapsing onto them, jumping to his feet immediately to verify the claim. Not that he doubts the other male, in whatever absurdity would his once savior conjure a lie to trick him, but. . . rather, he needs to see it with his two eyes for the sense of relief to wash over him.

What he discerns. . . suffice to say, the constricting sensation in his throat feels worse than the wrath the djinn has descended upon him and for an ephemeral moment, he almost wished Geralt had left him to his own devices after his ridiculous attempts to declare his wishes. That way, they wouldn't have met Yennefer, and the bard wouldn't have to bear witness to the sight unfurling before his eyes, struck speechless except an echoing revelation that haunts him, veins running cold as three words escape him.

"They are alive. . ." He murmurs lowly, blinking away what ebbs at his eyes until the elf drags him away none too gently.

Numbness permeates Jaskier's body before he brushes away the other's hand, steeling his features and saunters off to find Roach. Perhaps. . . just perhaps. . . if he pretends everything is fine, they will be too.

He has loved before, plenty of times, and they have never ceased to leave his heart in shatters once they inevitably left, taking away the memories and sweet whispers of adoration. What once were beautiful and eternal, gentle caresses and lilting laughter, murmured affirmations and a familiar surge of warmth that tickles his skin pink. But the bard has taken all these to stride, finding inspiration rather than remorse, and heartaches into wondrous melodies that spur his talents for months to come.

This time, however, Jaskier knew it will be different, for he has not once given away his love so effortlessly before. Never has anyone stuck with him so long, despite Geralt's disgruntlement and brash 'hmm's that convey no form of negotiation. The clumsy nature of the human has led him to more unfortunate circumstances than he could count, especially starting on the journey that no longer comprises of cheap ale and clamor. Instead his life is filled with adventure, tales to sing, sights to behold and a secret he carries to his grave.

The bard is unabashed with his affections, not one to shy away from sliding up to the white wolf without preamble and cares for Geralt in a manner that indisputably unsettles the witcher. They don't have friends, he claims, but Jaskier knows otherwise. If he truly meant nothing, wouldn't he have chased Jaskier away a long time ago? Both of them are acutely aware of how capable he is in that aspect.

No, he is content with burying this deeply inside of him, not confessing a modicum of his true feelings with one simple thought — Witchers have no emotions and therefore, hell would freeze over if Geralt ever reciprocates a fraction of what Jaskier felt.

So how does one perceive an image, clear as crystal in front of him and bore witness by another, that Witchers are far from the legends have crafted them to be and emotions are felt as keenly as a human would?

Time has never passed so agonizingly slow over the duration of his travels as anxiety consumes him, waiting with bated breath until Geralt. . . has concluded his business with the gorgeously powerful sorceress and remembers the silly bard and his steed. And once he did. . . Jaskier has already soothed the throb within his chest and mustered up enough nerves to wear his bravado, one he has learnt from years on the streets to wear as clearly and flawlessly, that no one ever questions it — so impeccable the bard sometimes is deluded by himself.

* * *

Adorning a façade has came with such relative ease to the bard, feigning ignorance at the events transpired during their stint at Rinde and exchanging poorly guised flirtations with the two warrior women before him. It is a nice change from trotting behind Geralt, swarmed with the unbearable memories and forcing a smile upon visage whenever silence lingers, chattering endlessly in his very one-sided conversation.

He has rarely broached the topic of a certain sorceress and thankfully, neither does the witcher, at least not more than a passing remark that Jaskier has always managed to sidestep into a teasing remark pertaining to the Geralt's concern for his well-being.

Even at the current moment, pouring out compliments after another towards a new source of his attention, it became easier — resuming the normalcy he has after a long time, the bard almost believed he moved on.

Should one of the Zerrikanians fall for his charms, another decade away from Geralt might do him some good. Forget everything, let age catch up with him and mellow, perhaps even settle down in the meantime.

However, it appears that all his wishful thinking comes to a scalding halt when he discerns golden gaze snapping up in a manner he has yet seen in years they have travelled together — not even against the fiercest of monsters and a sigh resonates deeply when he follows suit.

"Oh, no, no, no."

Adamancy instilled within urgency is enforced, though his countenance is graced with an affable smile tinged in the slightest of grimness. His lips are pressed into a tight line, waving off the older male's words — whatever he has up his sleeves to entice the witcher into joining the outrageous mission ; the prospect of falling victim to a mythical creature sounding delightful if it meant tearing his friend away from the mage.

"Like the man said, we really can't get involved. It's a suicide mission, Geralt. So, shall we?"

Jaskier's head cants sideways, endeavoring to break the wolf's riveted gaze upon the sorceress and eyes bulge widely, implore and desperation evident in his features as his fingers grasp around the other male's armor, tugging to accentuate his beseech.

Regardless of his plea, Geralt's gaze remains transfixed and thoroughly mersmerized and the fingers that have clutched onto him fall away, just as the witcher confirms his involvement huskily, never breaking the trance he has slipped underneath the moment Yennefer bypasses the tavern's threshold.

And of course, that means he does not register how the older man's triumphant smile, nor the way Jaskier's face crumbles and shoulder slump in defeat, swallowed by the painful reminder that again — in the end, he will be the last option, discarded to chase after another such as a strong and phenomenal woman like her, one that could match the witcher's caliber.

Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg. . .

They do make an excellent team, with no place for a mere bard like Jaskier to intrude on a fearsome duo whose reputation will only suffer a strain with a burden such as himself tagging along. Not that he is even asked. Not that they want a third party accompanying them, anyway.

After all this time, it isn't Geralt's lack of ability to discern any mortal emotions that have been concealed by his witcher upbringing that he never considered Jaskier. It never is, or will be, Jaskier in the first place. Just a passerby in the white wolf's long life of acquaintances, forgotten as easily as the barmaids serving them in this tavern.

And when morning comes prior to the party's hike up the mountains, he will just be as forgotten the second Geralt leaves in pursuit of his true love. The one who could spark the flames within the witcher, a side filled of life and passion Jaskier has never laid eyes on. . . and what kind of a man would he be if he stands in the way, continuing to be a stumbling block in Geralt's life?

* * *

> _I thought I knew what real pain felt like,_
> 
> _but I didn't. . ._
> 
> _until I saw the way you look at her._


End file.
